Dead Ringer
by Spaceghostess
Summary: Spike's changing, and there's nothing he--or Buffy--can do about it. Be warned, this is shaping up to be long and angsty.
1. ENCROACHMENT

Warning: Spoilery for Season 5, through "Forever."  
  
Disclaimer: All characters are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy-even Spike (darn his sinister attraction). I'm just borrowing.  
  
DEAD RINGER  
  
Chapter 1:  
  
ENCROACHMENT  
  
The ginger-haired girl in the window seat faced away from him, leaning into the light and focusing on the embroidery in her lap with a frown. "Oh!" She'd pricked her finger, and now sucked the tip in frustration-she'd always hated needlework. As she examined a new drop of blood welling on her fingertip, he approached slowly, silently-careful to keep to the shadowy corners. Closer, closer, until-  
  
"I've got you now, little one- your blood shall be mine!"  
  
She screamed, startled-and promptly clouted him on the head with a cushion. He quickly recovered, grabbing her about the waist and flinging her negligible weight over his shoulder.  
  
"Your struggles will come to naught-surrender your blood to me!"  
  
She swatted at him again. "Oh, for heaven's sake, put me down!" she squealed.  
  
"What on earth is...?" A middle-aged woman strode into the drawing room, only to suppress a smile beneath a minimally convincing mask of disapproval. "Honestly William, one would hardly believe you've just passed your twentieth year, the way you continue to torment your sister!"  
  
Sheepishly, he dropped Sarah to the floor. Sarah, for her part, looked quite self-satisfied, until-  
  
"And *you* young lady-or so you purport to be. When will you learn not to indulge his antics?"  
  
Aunt Kate shook her head, but her eyes were soft, and softer still, as she faded, along with the sound of Sarah's laughter...  
  
Stone. Cobwebs. Crypt.  
  
*SIGH*  
  
Another of those damn dreams. Time was, he barely remembered his dreams at all-and when he did, they were drenched in blood, brutality, sex-a few of his favorite things. Or at least they *had* been, until... Until when, exactly? When had things begun to change? He couldn't recall, exactly, but it must've been after the cursed implant. Surely he hadn't been thinking of this nonsense before he'd been defanged. In his glory days, it had been all chaos, madness...all Dru, and nothing else had mattered. Or had it? If he were completely honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he'd been plagued by these dreams-nightmares, really-for quite a bit longer than a few years. More like a few decades...half a score, to be exact. The difference was that before, he could push them right back to wherever they came from. Bury them deep. He had had "better" things to think about, bigger distractions to keep him from acknowledging or remembering that other time, that other place. That other life. But now it was different-because of the chip. *He* was different, whether he liked it or not. Living in limbo between the darkness and the light...fitting in nowhere, and with no one. Now, the memories-the kind that would have warmed a mortal soul-had freer rein than ever before. And they chilled him colder than he already was. Because they pushed him further into *her* world. And he didn't belong in that neighborhood. He'd tried to move in, not long ago, but she-and the rest of them-had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't welcome. Doors slammed shut. Locks thrown home. Get the hell out, Spike-and don't come back.  
  
He was so damned angry. But more than that, and so very much worse-he was hurt. If only. If only he could get this damn chip out and go back to what he should-needed-to be. If only he could get them all in a room and give them what they deserved...pay them back for the humiliation, for everything. If only he could, he'd make them sorry. Wouldn't he? There should be no question, but there was.  
  
*Bloody hell. What do I do now?*  
  
He had to figure out how to rid himself of the recollections tainting his waking and sleeping hours. They could only do him damage-make him weaker than he already was. What if they changed his outlook permanently? So that even if he regained his power, he *couldn't* go back to his old ways?   
  
*Oh yeah, that'd be brilliant, just brilliant.*  
  
He needed help. Someone to show him how to cope with the dreams, understand them, even. If he knew *why* he was having them, maybe he could get rid of them. A mesmerist, perhaps? No, they called them "hypnotists" now, didn't they? Or a psychiatrist...  
  
*OK mate, now you've gone beyond the limit. You've really lost the plot. You can't be thinking of seeing a head-shrinker. This is SO wrong. They don't have vampire shrinks around here, anyway. Maybe in LA, but The Poof P.I.'d stake you in a heartbeat...haven't got the cash, anyway.*  
  
No funds, no friends. Even his enemies considered him a joke. He was a sorry excuse for...anything. He'd have to work this one out on his own. Look into the past to pack it away where it belonged. Maybe then he could find a way to accept his unlife for what it now was. And a way to finally leave this town for good.  
  
The sun was just about down. He drank a snack and headed out into the night.  
  
********  
  
Buffy followed the sound of the screams. She was desperate-because she knew that voice-and couldn't seem to gain any ground. She'd been in the attic when she'd heard, and immediately raced down the stairs, but the staircase-and everywhere else, it seemed-was shrouded in a suffocating mist, obscuring her view and muffling her hearing. No matter how many steps she took, she couldn't seem to reach the bottom. She had to keep going. Dawn was in trouble. Buffy was so disoriented, she knew she'd never find her weapons, or anything else, for that matter. She'd have to fight the thing with her bare hands. Whatever it was...wherever the hell it was.  
  
The living room. That's where the screams had emanated from-and where she suddenly found herself.  
  
"Well, here you are at last, Buffster. Dawnie and I've been waiting forever. What took you so long, anyway?"  
  
Red dress. Stiletto heels. Grating voice. Glory. Clutching Dawn by a fistful of her silky dark hair.  
  
Buffy launched herself at her enemy, and immediately realized that the battle was lost. Glory was too strong. Buffy felt her body slam against wall, floor, ceiling. And she was powerless to do anything about it. Where were her friends? They had to know she needed them. And then she heard the other voices.  
  
"Buffy, we're here...just hang on...we're doing a spell." *Willow?*   
  
"Will, where are you?"  
  
"Don't worry Buffy-I've got your back!"  
  
"Xander!" She could hear him, yet saw nothing but mist.  
  
And he didn't have her back. Glory did-with the fireplace poker. Buffy felt it lodge between her shoulder blades. This was getting worse and worse.  
  
Another voice: "Buffy, my research indicates that to defeat Glory, you should...and then.... It's the only way to destroy her...."  
  
"But Giles, I can't hear you! What did you say? What should I do? I need you guys! Where are you?!"  
  
Then silence. Even Dawn's screaming had stopped.   
  
Buffy lay on her back, bleeding, broken, and helpless. It was over. She'd failed. Through the fog, she saw Glory approaching. Her hands and arms were stained red-with Buffy's blood, and God knew whom else's. She smiled as she looked down at Buffy, and as the hellgoddess reached locked her hand around her throat in a death grip, Buffy saw a figure approach behind her. A dark figure with unnaturally light hair.   
  
*What's *he* doing here? Stupid question-he's here to watch you die, of course...*  
  
*GASP*  
  
Shadows. Sheets. Bedroom.  
  
Another nightmare, and quite a doozy at that. Buffy grabbed her journal from the bedside table and scribbled down as much as she remembered before it could fade away. Just in case it was prophetic.  
  
*Dreaming of your own death. Way to go, Buff-morbid much?*  
  
Okay, so maybe taking a two-hour afternoon nap after a jelly-donut binge wasn't so good for the ol' Slayer subconscious. Well, not much else was good for her these days, either. Having a sister who was really a blob of energy sought after by a hellgod-bad. Having a vampire "in love" with her-disturbing. And having lost her mother less than two months ago...no words or thoughts could express it. Her friends had been great, and Giles was a rock. Still, it was all Buffy could do to hold herself together for Dawn, or anyone else. She was training hard, and the gang was studying even harder to find a way to stop Glory-any weakness they could prey upon. Every day, Buffy gave herself a pep talk: "You're the Slayer...you can do this...Scoobies will help...blah, blah blah...." But it was getting harder and harder to convince herself that she-or any of them-were going to come out of this alive.  
  
And his words kept haunting her...  
  
"Every Slayer has a death wish..."  
  
*Not me. A little depression doesn't equal "death wish." Does it?*  
  
Buffy went into the bathroom, splashed some cold water on her face. He didn't know what he was talking about. He was just messing with her mind...trying to wig her out with his Slayer-slaying tales...  
  
*He doesn't know me. Killing two slayers doesn't make him an expert. We're all different*  
  
"I'm different."  
  
But how different was she, really...and how strong? Her friends said all the "right" things...the supportive things. But only one person had been brutally honest with her recently. And even though every other word he said was a lie, she knew her enemy was telling the truth about what he'd seen in each Slayer he'd confronted-including her.  
  
Buffy leaned against the bathroom wall, massaging her temples. Thinking about all this stuff was bringing on a tension headache. The Spike issue was a particular source of worry. Not because she thought he'd try to make any more amorous overtures, but because she realized now just how badly she-all of them, really-had handled that situation. It was right to tell him that any "relationship" between them was impossible. And it was certainly right to de-invite him from the house. But *how* they had done it? Oh, so monumentally wrong. It was like everyone had fed off of her freaked-out vibes-and dealt with Spike way more harshly than necessary. It should have been handled with more finesse-Giles himself had sheepishly admitted this-and a great deal less emotion. Because, where before they had an uneasy ally with a misguided sense of loyalty, now what they had was a humiliated, hurt (if that were possible), incredibly pissed-off vampire who knew too much. She couldn't try to fix it by being nice to him-it was too late for that; he'd never buy it. And she had no way of knowing whether he'd try get back at her by ratting Dawn out to Glory.   
  
If today's nightmare *was* a message of some sort, it seemed to indicate that Spike would be there when things got dire...and probably in a not-so-nice capacity. Even if he had no intention of giving Dawn away at the moment, it wasn't worth the potential risks. Buffy had a sudden surge of resolution. She'd known it would come to this from the moment they'd met. For the longest time, she'd relished the thought of the battle. How satisfying it would be to stake that vamp right out of her hair. But over the past couple of years, she'd gotten used to having him around. Not enjoying, but accepting his presence on a certain level. It wouldn't have been fair to dust him when he couldn't fight back. But the time for "fairness" was over. He had a way to fight back, now. The information on Dawn was the most powerful weapon he'd ever had against Buffy. So she had to make him gone. One less threat to deal with. Anyway, it was her job, and she'd do it this time, just as easily as hundreds of times before. Yeah, right. She needed another pep talk... from someone other than herself. She'd drop by the Magic Box and see Giles. But first, she had another stop to make.  
  



	2. IN THE STACKS

Warning: Spoilery for Season 5, through "Forever."  
  
Disclaimer: All characters herein (except Mrs. L.) are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy-even Spike (darn his sinister attraction). I'm just borrowing.  
  
DEAD RINGER  
  
Chapter 2  
  
IN THE STACKS  
  
Spike stalked into the Sunnydale Public Library with a chip on his shoulder that made him forget the one in his head. What the hell was he doing here, anyway? He'd already been to the library at Sunnydale U. It was a big place, lots of books-and completely overwhelming. He'd had no idea where to start, and when he'd gone to the front desk for help, had the overwhelming urge to bite both students there-the male for being a prat, and the female-well, she'd just looked tasty. The frustration was palpable. He couldn't concentrate in that bloody place, hence the change of venue. If this didn't work, it was back to the drawing board. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of book bindings and dust-at least the smell was familiar. It was close to seventy-five years since he'd been in a library for anything other than mischief. This one had computers everywhere. Why hadn't he paid attention to how Red had used that "laptop" gizmo? He was about to bag the whole notion, when...  
  
"May I help you find something?"  
  
Spike turned around and looked...down. At his right elbow was a petite, plump woman with salt and pepper hair, and glasses. She looked to be in her late fifites. Huh...your typical librarian-type...some things never changed. Her nametag read "Mrs. Licciardello." Well, at least she didn't make him hungry. And a glance into her inquisitive brown eyes told him this old bird knew her stuff.  
  
"Okay, look. I need to do some, uh...historical research, and I don't know how to use these sodding computers. So why don't you grab me some books and I'll take it from there, hmmm?" He shot her a look meant to be intimidating, condescending, and charming, simultaneously. It always worked. Well, it usually did.  
  
The woman's eyes narrowed. "Young man, I'd be happy to assist, but you're going to have to help me help you. I'll show you how to use the computers, and find a few books to get you started. This way, you'll understand the system-and you won't have to bother with an old fuddy-duddy like me next time you come in here."  
  
"Hey, look lady-I don't have time for this bollocks. Don't you work here? Isn't it your job to get me books?"  
  
"First of all, young-"  
  
"The name is Spike, and I'm hardly "young." I'm more than twice your-gah, forget it."  
  
"Very well, 'Spike.' To answer your question, yes, I'm here to help you. But if you look beyond your nose, you'll see there are other people using the facilities as well, who also need my help. If, by "bollocks," you mean "nonsense," be assured I have as little time for your "bollocks" as you do for mine. So, if you'd like to work *with* me, we can find what you're looking for. Otherwise, you're on your own. Oh, and would you mind keeping your voice down? Thank you." She smiled pleasantly.  
  
*Huh! Of all the bloody cheek. Listen to this one, then!*  
But he had the feeling that if anyone could help him find what he was looking for, it was Mrs...what's-her-name. So...  
  
Spike blinked "Uh, all right then. Show me what to do."  
  
Learning the computer system actually turned out to be much easier than he'd imagined. Before long,   
Mrs. L. had him set up with several histories of London, plus genealogy books for the "family tree" she thought he was researching. She seemed to enjoy helping him. Said this job made her feel like a detective. She'd have made a good Watcher-he could tell she was tough as nails.  
  
As he pored over the volumes, Spike marveled at how minutely history was recorded. It was amazing the way you could find out just about anything if you knew where to look. He was beginning to rather like this place. He located information about William's family "on line." The librarian had printed out information from a site called Somerset House Archives. Yes...Gwendolyn Anne Martingale married to John William Kingsley, 1853. Twin boys, William and Henry, born April 3, 1854. Henry, deceased October 14, 1854.   
  
*Twins?*   
*Bloody hell. I-*he*...William. Had a brother who died.*  
  
Then: Sarah Elizabeth Kingsley, born 1859. That was the girl with the curly red hair from his dream...William's little sister. Her laughter rang in his head. The sparkle in her eyes reminded him of someone he knew now...someone who wasn't too happy with his recent attentions to *her* sister.   
  
*Jeez, mate-give it a bloody rest. Stop thinking about the Slayer for two minutes!*  
  
He read further on. The part where William's father died ["hunting accident," 1860]; mother remarried [Randolph Chilton, 1863]. Mother died [Gwendolyn Anne Kingsley Chilton deceased, "household accident," 1865]. Accident. That's what they called it in those days, when a man killed his wife by beating her until she toppled down the stairs. Spike had dreamt about that, too. William had seen his stepfather that night. Witnessed the drunken rage that killed his mother. And knew, even as "respectable society" glossed over what Randolph Chilton had done, that the man was a murderer. Well, he'd certainly paid for it in the end, hadn't he?  
  
If Spike's memory served, ol' Randy'd made quite a tasty meal for a fledgling vamp and his lovely, mad sire. But the rest of the family was spared. He could see that Aunt Kate had lived to a ripe old age, and Sarah had gone on to marry one Edmund Daniels. She'd borne twins: Jessica and...William.  
  
Why? Why had he and Drusilla not feasted on the rest of the family? They'd have been easy pickings, all tucked up sound asleep in their beds. He dimly remembered that it had been *his* idea to leave. Dru hadn't been pleased at all.  
  
"Bad doggy. Teatime's not over and Miss Edith is still hungry! There are more dainties here."  
  
"No, luv, I don't fancy the taste of these. I know a better place-there's a party there tonight-it's late, but I'm sure..."  
  
"Oh, a lovely party? We'll dance and drink magic wine. We'll eat the fairy cakes and our tummies will glow! Let us go there, Miss Edith!"  
  
And so they had. And William had met some old "friends." Cecily had been sweet, so sweet, going down.   
  
It seemed like a lifetime ago, but of course that was only in mortal terms. If he were smart, shrewd, savvy, he'd have hundreds more years ahead of him. But how would he spend them? Would he be alone forever? Did he have to be? What if he found someone who didn't mind that he couldn't kill? Fat chance, that. No self-respecting vampiress would have any interest in a neutered mate.  
  
*But who says you have to be with a vampire? There might be another who would come around to understanding-maybe even loving you-eventually...*  
  
"NO-SHE DOESN'T WANT ME!"  
  
Heads turned, looking up from their books at Spike's outburst. Uh oh-the librarian was heading over, and she didn't look pleased. Time to get out of here-he was desperate for a smoke, anyway. Spike grabbed a couple of history books from the table as he strode towards the exit. Something beeped insistently as he passed through the metal gate, but he kept going. He'd bring the books back when he was done-no reason to get Mrs. L. in trouble-he kind of liked her. She reminded him of Aunt Kate...   
  
********  
  
As Buffy entered the library, someone brushed roughly past her. She wouldn't have noticed, but for his scent, which was very familiar. She turned to see a glimpse of black leather, platinum hair, fading into the night. How could it be? *Spike?* At the library? This was just too weird.  
  
Buffy headed over to Mrs. Licciardello's desk. The older woman looked up and smiled.  
  
"Hello, Buffy-here to pick up my best assistant?"  
  
"You know it, Mrs. L."  
  
"I believe she's in her usual spot-she finished her work early."  
  
Before heading over to Dawn's favorite reading chair, Buffy hesitated.  
  
"Hey, Mrs. L.? Did you notice a young guy-pale, platinum blond..."  
  
"...Leather jacket, English accent-answers to the name of 'Spike?'" the librarian finished Buffy's question. "He just left-I helped him with some historical and genealogical research. Seems he's tracing his roots. Strange young man, but I rather liked him. He's quite bright-a friend of yours?"  
  
Buffy blinked. Mrs. L. had struck her as a good judge of character-until now.  
  
Could Spike be looking into William's life? Why would he care to do such a thing? He'd always expressed contempt for his "mediocre" human existence. Maybe the chip really *was* changing him emotionally. But no, she wouldn't-couldn't-think about that possibility now. It would just make her job harder. Vamps were evil-end of story-no exceptions. Well, there was Angel, of course...  
  
"NO-STOP IT!"  
  
Once again, startled readers looked up, now at the blonde girl. Mrs. L. shook her head. "Something's in the air, tonight...no doubt about it."  
  



	3. MEMORY LANE

Warning: Spoilery for Season 5, through "Forever."  
  
Disclaimer: All characters herein (except Mrs. L.) are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy-even Spike (darn his sinister attraction). I'm just borrowing.  
  
DEAD RINGER  
  
Chapter 3  
  
MEMORY LANE  
  
Dreaming again. More William stuff. Playing as a child--a time before his mother's death...before he'd withdrawn and become an outsider among his peers. Those hazy memories mixed with later experiences--his sister, his aunt...his stepfather. What started out as a somewhat innocuous, foggy assortment of scenes soon enough became nightmarish images of a drunken, violent man. Beatings, verbal assaults...feelings of anger and fear so deeply repressed, but finally released with the taste of blood.  
  
Spike awoke once more with a start. But this time, instead of trying to forget, he made an effort to remember. And it was surprisingly easy. It was all there, in the back of his mind. William's awkward teenage years, avoiding his stepfather even as he tried to protect Sarah from the man's drunken rages. Aunt Kate, stubborn and strong...Randolph, for some reason, feared his dead wife's sister. After Kate moved in, Randolph stayed out as much as possible, though when he *was* about, he went out of his way to make William's life miserable. Sarah had been so young when Mother died that Aunt Kate was really the only maternal figured she'd ever known. She took to calling Kate "Mother," almost immediately, and, though Aunt Kate never encouraged it, she understood her niece's need. A spinster, she treated William and Sarah as the children she'd never had. It was her love that kept them whole. William was so used hearing Sarah refer to Aunt Kate as "Mother," he'd started to make the same association himself. He'd even spoken of her, thought about her, that fateful night...  
  
"I-I really must go...Mother is expecting me..."  
  
Even when the world outside was cruel, as it so often was to a sensitive young man like William, he knew Aunt Kate would be waiting at home, hot tea and biscuits at the ready. And then there was Sarah--so bright and full of life. Being her "big brother" was the only thing he'd ever really excelled at.  
  
*Is that why I let them live? Were the feelings so strong, even after Dru turned me?*  
  
It didn't seem possible, and it certainly conflicted with everything he'd believed--wanted to believe--for so very many years. But now, somehow, these feelings were bothering him less...  
  
*Bloody hell. You're supposed to be working through these memories to get back in touch with your inner demon, not your inner nancy-boy!*  
  
Spike shook his head. There was something else nagging at the back of his mind. Another event from long ago. It was shortly before they had left London...about eight years after his turning.  
  
He'd had another one of his run-ins with Angelus. Damn bloke always had to be in charge--strategy man. Well, he wasn't anywhere near as bright as he thought he was--and hadn't the least appreciation for the high to be derived from a real, brutal challenge. He blathered on about finesse, about sneaking 'round in the shadows--thought that was an "artful" way to kill. Really, he was just afraid of a messy tussle--too worried about grubbing up his frilly shirt cuffs. Spike (for he was "Spike" by now) was damn well sick of it. They were stuck in a rut--Dru, Spike, Angelus, and his tart, Darla. And Spike was getting restless. He'd needed to get away from the "family" for awhile, and found himself skulking down an alleyway in one of the nicer West End neighborhoods. It was a warm spring evening, and remarkably clear. He took a deep breath of the night air, his senses humming. He smelled prey. And then heard it.  
  
"Here kitty--oh, no--don't run away!"   
A ginger cat bounded into the alleyway and hid behind an ashcan. Spike had a sketchy view from his vantage point in the shadows...the woman who pursued it looked to be in her late twenties. Fresh, pretty features dusted with freckles, and deep red hair coiled in a bun from which a few stray ringlets had escaped. That face...it was strangely familiar. She had a gentle voice...seemed very concerned for the mangy cat.  
  
"Sarah, darling, come back out of the alley, please. You must realize we haven't room in the house for a single new stray. You can't rescue every single homeless cat in London, you know!"  
The man's voice was rich with amusement and affection. His shadow cast tall as he rounded the corner.  
  
These two would certainly make a tasty--not to mention easy--meal. But apparently someone else had the same idea. As the two hapless mortals peered behind the dustbin, a particularly large, exceptionally ugly pair of male vamps set upon them. Spike had seen them before--identical twin brothers, both equally stupid and crude. He watched in distaste as one grabbed the woman's breast.  
  
"Cor, I'm not too hungry to enjoy a bit o' fun before my supper!"   
  
The woman screamed and struggled madly. She certainly had fire in her. No shrinking violet, that. Her male companion, whom Spike judged to be her husband, was doing his best to get free of his own attacker. He fought desperately in a battle Spike knew he was doomed to lose. He wondered if the terror in the couple's eyes was at beholding the demonic visages of their attackers, or simply at looking death in the face. Spike had witnessed many such scenes before--participated in quite a few himself--though he never had gone in for rape. Dru liked it rough, but he never forced her. As he reflected upon this, he unconsciously moved closer to the melee. Close enough to get a full view of the woman's now tear-stained face. Close enough for her to see him at last, a spark of astounded recognition igniting in her eyes...  
  
"William?" she gasped. Then screamed, "William, oh dear Lord, please help us!"  
  
The reality of who she was hit Spike like a tidal wave.  
  
*God, it's Sarah! And these bastards are...*   
  
He set upon the twin vamps with murderous rage. They were young, relatively inexperienced fighters, so beating them senseless took little skill or effort on his part. Within minutes, he had them prone on the cobblestones. He spotted a broken chair leg protruding from one of the dustbins. He dispatched both brothers with nary a second thought. They'd dared lay hands upon Sarah--they deserved no better. A shaken sob caught his attention. He turned from the twin dust piles, adrenaline still pumping--game face still set...  
  
"Oh, William--I can't believe it's you. We all thought you were..."  
  
Her voice halted in a gasp as she saw not her brother's face, but one eerily similar to her attackers'. Yet she didn't scream, or run. Simply stared, transfixed, a look of horror mingled with sorrow and pity playing across her features.  
  
"William...what's happened to you?"  
  
At this point, her companion found his voice. He grabbed her arm and muttered under his breath.  
  
"Sarah, that isn't William--it can't be. Whatever it is, we must get away from it immediately. Come along..."  
  
But Sarah pulled free of his grasp, stepping closer, grabbing Spike's coat sleeve.  
"William, don't you know me? Please, what's happened, darling?"  
  
The tremulous hand clutching his sleeve seemed to have caught hold of his heart as well. He felt a constriction in his chest, a tightness in his throat. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to embrace his little sister. To tell her she was safe. To reassume his role as her brother and protector. But of course that was impossible. And the demon's anger at the human emotions bubbling forth made it easier for him to snatch his arm roughly from her grasp and turn away. He strode steadily down the alley. Madness, it was, getting involved in that scene. She was no longer his "sister," but nothing more than another potential meal. And if they ever crossed paths again, he wouldn't hesitate to show her the deadly truth of what he'd become. Not human, but demon. Demon to all...no exceptions. As the distance between them grew, her voice grew fainter...  
  
"William...Brother! Come back to me, please! Look at me!"  
  
And before he rounded the corner, *something* made him turn back. With his human visage, he took one last look at Sarah. And she at him...before he turned away for good.  
  
********  
A grief-stricken cry startled Spike from his reverie. Though his crypt was in a part of the cemetery no longer used for burials, sometimes the voices of the bereaved carried some distance across the graves. Sometimes their song accompanied his daylight slumber. He rubbed his hand across his face. That memory had been intense. So intense, in fact, that his hand came away from his cheek wet with tears.  
  
*Bloody hell. What's happening to me?*  



	4. BLOODY DETERMINATION

Warning: Spoilery for Season 5, through "Forever."  
  
Disclaimer: All characters herein are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy-even Spike (darn his sinister attraction). I'm just borrowing.  
  
DEAD RINGER  
  
Chapter 4  
  
BLOODY DETERMINATION  
  
"...So she grabs me by the throat, and over her shoulder, I see *him.*"  
  
"'Him' who?"  
  
"Spike. He's going to be there, Giles. He's going to help her kill me...*us*."  
  
Giles sighed, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses.  
  
"How sure are you about this, Buffy? I know a few of your dreams have been prophetic, but..."  
  
"Of course I can't be totally sure. But if there's even a *chance* of him betraying Dawn...I know what I have to do. And I can't believe this, but I have a feeling it's going to be harder than I thought. It'll be like killing something defenseless. And it's *so* much weirder since what he...well, what he told me. You know."  
  
"Buffy, perhaps you shouldn't be the one to...take care of...Spike. Xander and I could do it, surely. He can't fight back, after all. We could just go into his crypt tomorrow afternoon, and..."  
  
Buffy collapsed into a nearby chair in the training room. Shoulders hunched, eyes down. Fingers fidgeting nervously.  
  
*God, I don't want to stake him. Why am I having such a hard time with this? He's my enemy...always has been. It doesn't matter if he can't kill me--he can hurt me in other ways. I should've done this a long time ago. Why didn't I?*  
  
"No, Giles. I should do it myself. We've been 'dancing' together for years. I think he'd want it to be me. Maybe I can let him get some shots in...if the chip allows. Let him think we're really 'fighting' for one last time."  
  
Her voice was low. She didn't want to do this. Giles was more worried than ever about his charge. She had too much coming down on her. But she was an adult, capable of making her own decisions. He'd never judged her, and he wasn't about to start now.  
  
"Buffy, you know I'll support you, whatever you do. Just let me know if you need anything. Shall I tell the others? You might want someone to talk to, uh...after it's over."  
  
"Yeah, sure. Whatever. I...thanks, Giles, for not making this harder." She paused, frowning. "You know, when I picked up Dawn from the library, I found out he'd been there. The librarian told me he was researching his family tree. William, pre-'The Bloody' stuff, apparently. I wonder why he'd...?"  
  
Buffy shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "Forget it. It doesn't matter now."  
  
*There's no point in wondering anything about Spike, ever again. It's going to be over soon.*  
  
********  
  
The name "Spike" caught Dawn's attention as she wandered aimlessly through the part of the store nearest the training room. Buffy and Giles were talking about Spike--and, not surprisingly, they didn't sound too happy. Dawn crept closer to the door. Not that Spike was her best friend or anything, but she wasn't mad at him anymore like she'd been after that Buffy-napping incident. That had been way creepy, but he'd been really sweet right after Mom died. That whole idea about doing a reanimation spell had been stupid--Dawn had the feeling Spike had only gotten involved to keep her out of danger. She'd felt really guilty after the Ghora demon had taken a bite out of him, but Spike was totally cool about it. Since then, she'd dropped by his crypt a couple of lunchtimes. Of course, Buffy didn't know--she'd have gone seriously ballistic. But what she'd just overheard wasn't about scary stories over lunch with Spike. There was determination in her sister's voice. And "determined" Buffy generally resulted in dustiness for any vamp in sight. Except this wasn't just *any* vamp.  
  
"...take care of Spike..."  
  
"...should have done this a long time ago..."  
  
"...let him think we're fighting one last time..."  
  
Buffy sounded serious. Deadly serious. And that could mean only one thing. A few months ago, Dawn would have considered these empty threats. Buffy had had plenty of chances to off Spike, but since the chip, had never taken him seriously enough to do anything. Even after the stuff with ADAM. And Riley. Even after he'd chained her up in his crypt. She sometimes wondered if there wasn't something deep down in Buffy that *liked* having the surly bloodsucker around. But it looked as if things were about to change--permanently. And Dawn knew it had to do with her. Buffy would do whatever was necessary to protect her.   
  
"If she stakes him, it'll be because of *me.*"  
  
But that wasn't going to happen.   
  
She heard the sounds of punching and kicking emanating from the training room. They'd be busy in there for at least an hour. Anya was at the other end of the store, in deep discussion with a customer. Dawn slipped behind the counter and hit the "No Sale" button on the cash register...  
  
********  
  
Spike started slightly at the knock on his crypt door. Couldn't be the Slayer--she was never that courteous. Whoever it was, it wouldn't do for them to see what he'd been up to. He squirreled the pen and notebook away under the sofa cushion. He hadn't been able to sleep this afternoon, for some reason. Unusual, that. No matter the trouble, he'd never suffered from insomnia. As bad as things had ever gotten, he could always sink into sweet oblivion for at least a few hours. But lately, his mind had been too restless, humming with thoughts, memories...questions. So he'd taken to writing things down. Sometimes his dreams, sometimes recollections of William's life...even the odd snippet of poetry.  
  
*Oh yeah, Spikey ol'boy--you've taken a swan dive into the deep end of the poof pool. Well on your way to drowning, too.*  
  
More knocking, this time accompanied by a familiar voice.  
  
"Spike, I know you're there. C'mon--get up and let me in!"  
  
The Niblet. He smiled to himself. Couldn't help but like the kid--she was smart, cute, and damn near respectful of him. Like someone else he'd once known. He was secretly pleased every time she stopped by, though he took care not to show it. He rose to answer the door.  
  
Dawn looked over her shoulder as she rushed into the crypt, as if expecting to be followed. She went over to the crate he used as a coffee table and slammed down some money. Her eyes were wide with worry as she turned to address him.  
  
"Spike, you've got to get out of here."   
  
"Yeah, well I've been telling myself the same thing for the past couple of years, kid, and yet here I remain. Glutton for punishment, I guess."  
  
"Well, unless it's capital punishment your jonesin' for, you have to leave here--tonight."  
  
Dawn looked scared--really scared. Something was seriously wrong.  
  
"What's this all about, little bit? Why's it so important for me to leave Sunnyhell--and where'd you get this money from? Hope you didn't crack open your piggy bank just for little ol' me..."  
  
"It's...Buffy. She's gonna stake you. She had a dream--about Glory killing everyone--you were in it. She's convinced you're going to have something to do with it. That you're gonna help Glory 'cause you're mad at Buffy, or something like that. Whatever--she's planning to kill you, Spike. Now you've got to go. I took this money from The Magic Box--"  
  
"Wait a minute, you nicked it? That's not like you..."  
  
"Spike! Are you listening to me? Buffy's gonna stake you--you have to go!"  
  
Spike shook his head, his mind a muddle of disbelief and denial. She'd threatened this plenty of times, but she wouldn't, couldn't--actually go through with it--could she? True, she'd been furious about recent events. She'd made it clear in no uncertain terms that she didn't share his feelings, but he'd been sure that the de-invitation was as far as it would go. If she'd wanted him dead, she could have made it happen ages ago...  
  
*God, Slayer--you really hate me that much...*  
  
Dawn watched as various emotions played over the vampire's face. He looked stricken--more so than she'd ever seen him. He didn't want to accept what she was saying.  
  
"Listen, this is serious. If you'd seen her face, you'd know what I'm talking about. You know that look Buffy gets...on patrol? The Slayer face. She's got a mission. It's not really you--it's because of me. She's scared to lose me, she'll do anything to protect me. She sees you as a threat, so you have to...go."  
  
"She should know I'd never do anything to hurt you. *You* know that, don't you, Dawn?"  
  
She stepped closer, tentatively touching his sleeve.  
  
"Yeah, Spike--I know. Like I said, this is more about me than you. I-I don't want you--or anyone--to die because of me. Buffy's just really scared, and she's not used to that feeling. Maybe later, she'll be thinking straight, but now, I think it would be best..."  
  
She was right, the kid was. He had to leave.  
  
********  
  
The crypt door burst open, exposing a rectangle of inky darkness.  
  
"Spike? Where are you?"  
  
The hand gripping Mr. Pointy shook ever so slightly. She felt stillness in the dusty darkness. The place was devoid of the energy that accompanied his presence. Strange, how an undead being could exude the life force *he* did. The air around him always buzzed with...*something*...that jangled her nerves. But he wasn't here now. He was gone-long gone. The beam from her flashlight swept the room. He didn't have much in the way of possessions, but his t.v. had disappeared-and that likely meant he had, too.   
  
*Damnit. I was ready. I really was. Could have done it this time.*  
  
Buffy sank down in the ratty old armchair. It smelled of blood, smoke, bourbon. It smelled of him. Her right hand finally relaxed, dropping the stake to the floor with a clatter. She leaned over, elbows on knees, hands grasping her head, and released a shuddering breath.  
  
And then she cried. Dry, heaving sobs of pure relief. But relief soon dissipated trampled down by the now-familiar, desperate fear.  
  
*The job's not done. He's still out there, and he's like a time bomb. He could take Dawn away, and everyone else. He might not want to, or even mean to...but I can't take that chance. I have to find him and finish this. Even if it changes me forever.*  
  
And it would. Somehow, she knew that it would.  



	5. FIGHT OR FLIGHT

Warning: Spoilery for Season 5, through "Forever."  
  
Author's note: Just wanted to apologize for the long delay between chapters. Life has been hectic in some not-so-good ways for the past couple of weeks. But thanks for all the wonderful feedback--that's a big part of what keeps me going with this monster!  
  
Disclaimer: All characters herein are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy-even Spike (darn his sinister attraction). I'm just borrowing.  
  
DEAD RINGER  
  
Chapter 5  
  
FIGHT OR FLIGHT  
  
*Twenty-twenty-twenty-four hours to go, I wanna be sedated. Nothing to do nowhere to go oh, I wanna be sedated...*  
  
Spike tuned in to the familiar refrain seeping through the headphones of the sullen teenager across the aisle. Huh. Kid wasn't even born when that song came out. He remembered the last time he'd heard it. He'd sung along...  
  
"Twenty-twenty-twenty-four hours to go, I wanna be sedated..."  
He glanced at the Slayer across the DeSoto's bench seat.  
"You like the Ramones?"  
She looked at him as if he were crazy.  
  
And he bloody well was, wasn't he? In love with his mortal enemy, the woman with whom he had less than a snowball's chance in hell. The woman who despised every undead inch of him--and who was finally ready to do something about it.  
  
But she was also the woman who had made an uneasy alliance with him to save the world. Who'd allowed him to sit in the same room and chat with her mother. The woman who'd failed to stake him for the past year--when it would have been *so* easy. The woman who, for a moment, had trusted him to protect those dearest to her.  
  
The woman who had uninvited him from her house.  
Who'd kissed him so passionately when under a love spell.  
The woman who had said, "The only chance you had with me was when I was unconscious."  
  
Yeah. That was her. The Slayer. *His* Slayer, in more ways than one.  
  
The bus was scheduled to arrive in Los Angeles a few hours before sunrise. So he'd have some time to prowl, find a place to crash--a place where his darling grandsire wouldn't find him. Unless, of course, he *wanted* to be found. Spike emptied the contents of his pockets onto the seat next to him. Zippo, smokes, seventy-five bucks, tattered wallet-shot of the Slayer, and a funny little bracelet made out of wooden beads strung onto elastic. The beads were turquoise and pink, and some of them featured little designs. Except for the ones in the middle. They were plain varnished wood, with letters on. Letters spelling out "Dawn."  
  
"Take me with you," she'd said.  
  
"Niblet, that's crazy and you know it. Talk about incentive for big sis to make with the stake..."  
  
"Yeah, but nobody here really understands. I'm dangerous to them--all of them--I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of me. When I saw those crazy people at the hospital, and I thought about what Glory did....The longer she's around here, searching for The Key, the more people she'll do stuff to. And not just strangers--Xander, Willow, Mr. Giles...Buffy. I'm scared to leave, Spike--but I'm more scared of what'll happen if I stay. If I go away, maybe she'll give up."  
  
"Listen Dawn, even if you skip town with me, it would only prolong the inevitable. Glory'd still be looking for The Key, and since she doesn't know it's you, it'd make no difference to her whether you left or not. Unless, of course, it tipped her off that there was something 'unusual' about you. Then what? Either way, people'd still be getting brain sucked. That's going to happen regardless of where you are. But if you leave, it hurts your family, your friends, way more than you realize. Not knowing where you are, if you're safe-it'd destroy Buffy. And I *know* you don't want that. You're a smart person. And a good one. Anyway, don't worry--the Slayer'll make everything OK, like she always does. And I'll keep in touch."  
  
Dawn nodded acquiescence, even as a tear rolled down her cheek. She looked up at him with a watery smile.  
  
"Yeah, well you'd *better* keep in touch. Hold on to this just to remind yourself. Hopefully, it'll make you think about me and feel guilty. So you'll call and write me...a lot."  
  
She dropped the trinket into his palm, squeezing his hand closed with both of hers. Her hands were so warm. His throat felt tight. Those wacky feelings again. Damnit.  
  
"I'm a vampire, remember? I don't feel guilt."  
  
"Whatever. There's a first time for everything. And an exception to every rule. And a whole bunch of other cliches I won't go into right now. Just don't forget about me, OK?"  
  
********  
  
Spike re-pocketed his meager collection of possessions. His other valuables remained back in Sunnydale. The DeSoto, which he'd otherwise have been driving, needed a bit of tinkering, and there hadn't been time to mess around with it. He'd hated leaving it behind--not having wheels really undercut his independence--not to mention his image. Well, he'd go back for it as soon as the coast was clear. His t.v. was locked in the trunk. No point leaving it in the crypt--no telling who or what might bust in there while he was away. A car and a television set...those were his "valuables." A Slayer and her little sister. They meant more to him than anything he could beg, borrow, or steal.  
  
*Shit. Better off with the sodding t.v. Better companionship, and at least it's not trying to kill me.*  
  
He looked out the window. They were finally pulling up to the depot. He watched as the other passengers filed off the bus. The kid with the Walkman, the old lady he'd chased away from the adjoining seat with a dirty look. The pregnant girl with the sad eyes. Just about the Slayer's age, that girl. She didn't seem too thrilled about her condition.  
  
Spike lit up the minute he hit the pavement. Damned if this dead body wasn't addicted to nicotine. That, or just desperately in need of oral gratification. Which reminded him. He was hungry. Ducking into an alleyway a few blocks from the bus station, he reached into the plastic grocery bag he'd been toting. Dawn had swiped a couple of blood bags for him. Getting sneaky, that little one. He'd have been proud, but he knew the kid would catch hell when and if her big sister found out what she'd been up to. Another thing to count against old Spike--more fuel to the fire, as if it were necessary. He drank one bag.  
  
*Save the other for later, mate. You don't know when you'll see your next meal.*  
  
As he tried to get his bearings, he heard a scream that quickly choked off to something more muffled. The sound came from behind an adjoining building. Curious, he rounded the corner. The smell of fear hit like a wave. He heard a single pounding heartbeat, and expected the scent of blood to be next. But it wasn't in the air. Not yet, anyway. The scream had come from the pregnant bus passenger. She was being pushed up against a dingy brick wall by a male vamp. Another watched the action but, strangely, hung back from assisting his companion in the kill.  
  
"Well, boys, really. This simply won't do. Don't you know it isn't nice to pick on ladies who are in a family way?" Spike sauntered over. Man, the one holding the girl was ugly, not to mention dirty. And smelly. Spike grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around before he could sink his fangs into his prey.  
  
"Gah, Junior--you stink--blokes like you are an embarrassment to the species." He ducked a wild swing from Pepe Le Pew, and decked him in one. Spike stole a glance at the girl as he knelt on the vamp's chest. She was shaking like a leaf and holding an arm protectively around her belly.  
  
"Get out of here, luv--now." Smart girl--didn't need to be told twice. She ran for her life, never looking back.   
  
"And as for you, ya putrid pillock..." The stake Spike kept in the back of his jeans made short and dusty work of the hapless fiend. But he hadn't forgotten the other one. He turned, expecting that it had fled--it hadn't seemed much of a fighter. Instead...  
  
"I-I'm sorry. I don't know...I don't know how! I don't want to do this....Help me!"  
  
*What the hell?* Tears were streaming from the other vamp's eyes--but they weren't tears of fear, so much as despair. And it was more than uncanny insight that told Spike this. He felt it. He felt himself inside the kid's--and he *was* a kid at his turning, only seventeen or so--head. Inside his heart. This was something more than empathy. This vamp had feelings--of remorse, of sorrow--that Spike was experiencing as if they were his own. He wasn't going to be able to dust this vamp, because this was more than a vampire. There was something wrong, here. Something fucked up beyond belief.   
  
He shook his head at the boy. This was too much. Too bloody much for him to take.  
  
"I can't help you, kid. But I won't kill you, so count your blessings."  
  
"N-no! You *have* to kill me. I can't take this anymore--I don't wanna be a monster. Please, do what you did to Brad. Stake me. Make it over, please!"  
  
The boy dropped to his knees and clutched at Spike's duster, begging for his own death.  
  
"Forget it, kid. I don't know what's wrong with you, but whatever it is, I can't help. Get out of here. If you want to off yourself, go ahead. There are plenty of ways. But don't ask me to do you in. Now go-get lost!"  
  
Suddenly, the boy grew still. His eyes were deadly calm as he held the elder vampire's gaze.  
  
"Of course, you're right. It's *my* responsibility. I'm responsible. I'll take care of it."  
  
Spike didn't like the sound of that. Especially once he realized that the kid's lips hadn't been moving when he'd said it. In fact, his lips hadn't moved for the duration of this "conversation." Spike had heard a voice, but it hadn't come from the other vampire's mouth. The boy hadn't properly "said" anything. Yet Spike had heard every word.  
  
*Oh, this is lovely. Just when I thought things couldn't get any stranger. First loving the Slayer, then channeling poncey William. Now I'm an undead sodding mindreader. What's--*  
  
He was slow to react as the boy lunged toward him. In a flash, the hand that a moment ago had held his stake...didn't. But another hand did. And as the young vampire plunged it into his own heart, Spike heard...nothing.  
  
Nothing except the clatter of wood against asphalt.  
  
*Welcome back to La-la Land, Spikey Boy.*  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. COLD PURSUIT

Warning: Spoilery for Season 5, through "Forever."  
  
Author's note: Just wanted to apologize for the long delay between chapters. Life has been hectic in some not-so-good ways for the past couple of weeks. But thanks for all the wonderful feedback--it's a big part of what keeps me going with this monster!  
  
Disclaimer: All characters herein are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy--even Spike (darn his sinister attraction) isn't mine. I'm just borrowing.  
  
DEAD RINGER  
  
Chapter 6  
  
COLD PURSUIT  
  
Buffy stepped off the train, blinking against the glare of the L.A. morning. She was tired, thirsty, and sniffly. Her throat felt scratchy.  
  
*Great. Apocalypse looming; vampire at large; ex-boyfriend around the corner, and now...a cold. Yay. Just...yay.*  
  
She'd hated leaving Sunnydale for about a million reasons, though it was certainly necessary. She hadn't stopped worrying about Dawn for more than a couple of minutes-and those minutes were occupied with thoughts of...Spike. Dammit. Thoughts of how she'd find him...and kill him.  
  
*This is *so* nuts. Why, why, why? If only he hadn't gotten chipped. If only he hadn't "fallen in love" with me. If only I hadn't had that dream. If only he were in Sunnydale right now, he could be looking out for Dawn... Huh?? If *he* were back home, I wouldn't be *here*--I'd be there, killing him, because I'm afraid he's going to get *me* killed. Or Dawn. Or everyone I know. OK, this whole thing is completely insane. And it's driving *me* crazy. Pull yourself together, Buffy. Find him. Slay him. Get over it.*  
  
Sighing, she pulled a business card from her pants pocket. Angel Investigations...Hyperion Hotel. She really, really hadn't wanted to get Angel involved in this. Seeing him, being with him after Mom's funeral had been simultaneously comforting and painful. Though the trauma did seem to lessen with each encounter. Still, that didn't mean that popping in on him so soon was at the top of her Fun Stuff To Do list.  
  
But Los Angeles was definitely more his town than hers--he'd be able to help her find Spike-fast. Hopefully, it wouldn't be necessary to complicate things by explaining the weirdness she and Angel's childe had been tangled up in over the past few months. Because that would just open up a whole new can of angst...  
  
  
He doodled a design on a legal pad. He refilled his stapler. He sniffed some Liquid Paper. Finally, Angel shoved his chair back from his desk. He was bored...incredibly bored. No new cases since Monday, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. Since he was no longer "The Boss" at Angel Investigations, he had to wait for Wesley to take the lead. And waiting wasn't Angel's strong suit. Unless the waiting was *his* idea. Showing humility, apologizing, basically crawling back on his hands and knees to regain the acceptance of his friends...it had been the right thing to do. But maybe he'd gotten a little carried away with the whole "I'll earn back your trust by demoting myself to sub-receptionist status" thing. This was boring, and, well...lame. Still, it was better than the alternative. Without Cordy, Wesley, and Gunn, he'd been more alone than he'd been since...well, since leaving Sunnydale for the first time. Going back after Joyce's funeral had dredged up so many memories. Seeing Buffy had been...hard. But less painful than he'd expected, somehow. Watching her suffer had been excruciating. His heart ached for her loss. But for once, he was able to leave her without guilt, knowing that he belonged here in LA. And he felt like she knew it, too. They'd always share something, but his work here was his purpose, now. He had no way of knowing when, or even if, they'd be together again in either of their lifetimes-but he could make a difference here, with or without her. Tearing himself out of broody mode, he wandered into Cordy's office.  
  
"Hey. Pizza or Chinese?"  
  
Cordy looked up from the ledger book open on her desk.  
  
"Hunh? Pete's Chinese? Good for him. Who's Pete?"  
  
"No, Peet-za *or* Chinese FOOD? What do you want for dinner?"  
  
"Oh. Chinese. But *I'll* tip the guy. You're so cheap, Yuck Foo's probably has us blacklisted already. I'm sure our orders have given PuPu Platter a whole new meaning."  
  
Angel rolled his eyes. "Okay, for the last time-I'm *not* cheap, just old..."  
  
"Wow, you're still using that line?"  
  
Cordy's blue eyes widened as she dropped her pencil. Angel just spun around, startled. Usually his senses rang in her presence, but this time she'd managed to sneak in under his radar.  
  
"Buffy? What the..."  
  
"Hey guys. I need your help in kind of a major way."  
  
  
  
Willow had her Worried Face on, and Tara didn't like it. That little wrinkle between her lover's eyebrows was adorable, but it didn't bode well. And now she sighed and looked at Dawn.  
  
"I know you're kind of...friendly with Spike, but you probably shouldn't have gotten in the middle of this, Dawnie. I mean, Buffy's having a real hard time right now, and going to LA isn't exactly gonna make things easier for her. What with, you know, Angel and everything..."  
  
Dawn looked at her fingernails. She was sick and tired of explaining herself. And she wasn't about to apologize for doing what she *knew* was the right thing.  
  
"Will, Buffy was planning to *stake* him, all because of some dumb dream she had. Just because you guys hate him doesn't mean you should kill him based on...nothing. Buffy's not psychic. And Spike wouldn't hurt me or her. Ever. *I* don't have to be Miss Cleo to know that. He's changed-and not just because of the chip. If Buffy dusts him, she'll regret it, not only because I'll never forgive her. There's something more to Spike that she's just not seeing. I can't explain it...it's just a feeling I have."  
  
"W-well, Buffy's got a *bad* feeling about Spike. How do you know her 'feeling' isn't just as valid as yours?" Tara ventured timidly. "I mean, when it comes to Glory a-and you, she's not willing to take any chances. She loves you too much for that."  
  
Dawn knew Willow and Tara were being nicer about this than they had to be. She knew everyone was really worried-about her, about what Glory might do-particularly Buffy. Still, she couldn't shake the sense that her sister was *way* off track in going after Spike.  
  
*I just hope he doesn't think that I ratted him out. It wasn't that hard for the gang to figure out that he went to L.A., once they knew he was gone.*  
  
Dawn sighed and turned her attention to the table near the back of the store, where Anya, Giles, Willow, and Tara were now gathered. Despite Anya's protestations, Giles had hung the CLOSED sign on the door so they could have lunch and discussion without interruption. Xander, on his lunch break from the site, had just strolled in. Evidently, everyone had temporarily given up trying to break through Dawn's Fortress of Stubbornness.  
  
*Good. They won't change my mind about Spike no matter how much they lecture me, anyway.*  
  
Willow was talking excitedly, as Tara smiled, nodding occasionally...  
  
"So, if we get this spell started while Buffy's gone, we'll maybe have some good news for her by the time she gets back!"  
  
Giles looked skeptical. "It's a fine idea in theory, Willow, but has anyone ever done it successfully-that's the real question. We're dealing with a god, after all. There's no halfway as far as Glory's concerned. I'm unaware of any magicks powerful enough to deal with what she is..."  
  
Willow still looked hopeful.   
  
"I'm not saying it's a perfect solution, Giles-it won't kill her, but it should weaken her significantly. It's a sort of binding spell and energy-leecher rolled into one. It'll make her lethargic, and she won't know why. It won't be easy for her to think, or plan-and she won't get as much nourishment from the brain-suckage. If it's really the suckage that keeps her going and the spell works, by the time we-Buffy and us-confront her, she'll be much more vulnerable. Obviously we can't kill her-'cause of, you know, pesky immortality-but Tara and I could trap her in an energy field or our own making-and, and shoot her out into space or something!"  
  
Xander jumped up, knocking his chair over in his excitement.  
  
"Yeah-like in Superman. You know, Zod and the gang, trapped in that giant CD-looking thingee! They were all like, 'ahh-we're being shot out into space-aaaaaagggh!'"  
  
He pressed his hands against an invisible barrier and grimaced.  
  
Anya looked startled.  
  
"Xander, please. You know it terrifies me when you mime. It's just...wrong."  
  
"Willow, before we go any further with this plan, or are driven to any more Marcel Marceau impressions," Giles said, shooting Xander a look, "I'd like to examine these spells you're working on. Anya should, too. We need to be as familiar with this process as possible, in the event of...difficulties. But I agree we *should* pursue it, if only because it's unlikely to make matters worse...and we really have no better options."  
  
"Of course, Giles-we'll go over them right away-this could really work. We might just kick her hellgoddess butt right into another universe," Willow said, smiling at Tara, who was looking slightly less confident than before.  
  
Giles frowned and sipped his tea. "Let's not get too cocky about this plan...remember what happened in Superman II...?"  
  
  
*William...come back! Come back to...You're beneath me...beneath me Spike...God, I want you...Spike, my Spike...you're a bad doggy...You're a monster...Beneath me...You disgust me...Help me, please! Help me...*  
  
Spike sat bolt-upright on the squeaky motel bed. So much for a good day's rest.  
  
*Hah. Should be used to it, by now. Goddamn dreams. Nothing floating about my subconscious except a load of old rubbish. Bloody flashbacks. Why can't I see what's gonna happen, instead of what's already passed under the bleedin' bridge?*  
  
At least it was dark enough now to get the hell out of this fleabag room. He'd shaken the grapevine a bit, and found out where he could go. As well as exactly where to avoid. He was pretty sure he could get blood at one of the places. He knew he could get booze there-plus, it was some kind of "sanctuary" for demons and such. No fighting on the premises. Which was fine with Spike. He was still a little shaken up from the encounter with those two vamps.   
  
That one, the one who'd begged for his own death-psychically-had really spooked him. The vibes coming off the boy had been so strange. So...human. That happened sometimes with half-breed demons. Their human blood made them act freakishly *normal*. But vamps were different. The darkness was palpable when he encountered one of his own kind. Didn't matter how ordinary-Joe they appeared-he could always sense the void where a soul should be. And that was only proper. The natural order of things. Vamps didn't have souls. Or, usually, death wishes. No more than any predator would. But that kid...  
  
*And how did he get into my thoughts like that? Bugger wormed his way right into my mind. And why the bloody hell is this still bothering me?*  
  
He shrugged into his duster. Reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes, his hand wrapped around something else. Dammit. He sat back down on the edge of the bed and reached for the phone. One ring...two. He held the receiver loosely, poised to hang up immediately if necessary. Three rings, and...  
  
"Hello?"  
  
*sigh*  
  
"Niblet?"...  
  



End file.
